The Courtship of Ukitake Juushirou
by Kilonji
Summary: Yoruichi sets out to court, wed, and bed the white-haired man of her dreams. Not necessarily in that order.
1. Pounce

**A/N:** Did I mention something, somewhere, about indulging myself?

* * *

She scares the life out of him.

He attributes the anxiety he feels to post-traumatic stress. What else are you supposed to feel after months—years—of emotional chaos and physical disorder? He is a war hero. He is a man of distinction among his vaulted and powerful colleagues. He has pushed himself physically and mentally to the brink of insanity and come away from it, not unscathed, but intact.

But peacetime is an adjustment in itself. As he works diligently in the cavern that used to house Central 46 he sometimes sees the flicker of a black tail from the corner of his eye. Startled, he'll scan the room with bright and almost feverish eyes. Shunsui, who is just sober enough to be semi-alert, will look at him curiously and ask if he needs to see Unohana-taichou.

Juushirou will take a breath, rub his brow tiredly and tell him no.

On the way home the air will be thick with imagined black fur and a hint of breath that smells like fresh milk. Juushirou will walk slowly, bones braced for the inevitable attack. Surely it must be coming.

But it does not, and when he arrives home to giddy, combative subordinates and the silent, secretive second he has chosen, he welcomes the safety of familiarity. Here he is protected, here he is comfortable. His labored breath slows just a bit. He has lasted. One more day.

Or not.

She's waiting for him in his bed, and she is not covered in fur. In fact, she's only wearing her white, feline grin. She pats the blanket beneath her. "Juu-chan, you look exhausted. Come lay down."

When his heart regains its steady rhythm, he has the strength only to close the door and stagger away. He'll find another place to sleep tonight. Otherwise he might not see morning, even if the hours in between are pleasurable enough to make his lifetime.

Besides. She's not desperate enough yet to chase after him.


	2. Hairball, My Love

She is not desperate enough yet to chase after him. This is what Kisuke would call a fallacy. Many a night she has caressed his cheek with her tail, made a slow, delicate pattern around his ear with her cold nose. Half-asleep, he brushed her away, smiling just a little, as if dreaming of a time he knew she was there. But she soon tired of the one-sided company and wanted him to see her, touch her, listen to her. Or maybe even love her in a way that would result in an explosion that would span centuries. The concept that she is not giving chase is what Kisuke would call a fallacy.

It's what she calls a pain in her ass. She waits, longer than she waited for him to begin with, to grow tired of running—limping—away from her and come back, but he does not. She was bored before he slid the door aside and his eyes nearly popped out. Had they fallen onto the floor and rolled to the futon, they would have gazed up at her in horror, she supposes. The question he has asked without so many words. _Where have you been, and what has happened to you?_

She huffs as she feels her reiatsu hum and her tail grow back. She sits on her haunches for another few moments, wondering if she should cough up a hairball on his blanket so he's aware of her thoughts on the situation. Gross, but attention-getting. Immature is one of many adjectives he has not used on her, but there's a first time for everything. But, no. The idea is as appalling as it is amusing, but she will not cross that line. A thousand years and maybe now she is falling into maturity. Or perhaps cat years, being shorter, are no less potent in their aging ways.

Perhaps this is how she can slip into his study where the door is open just a crack—ah, unbidden hope—with her tail high and her eyes sharp. It is dark but for the guttering lamp at his side. He sighs, tilting that ivory head in ways that made her tingle when she was younger and given to fangirl fantasies. A lock of it at his crown glints rich, stainless silver. "This," she declares airily, "is what Shirou-chan has to look forward to when his voice breaks."

"What, will you abandon me for him?" He always jokes when he senses her on edge.

"The thought has not crossed my mind before, but it does have certain fascinating aspects." Her stance is involuntarily rigid. Why is it that things fly out of her mouth when she is around him that she could easily swallow and forget in his absence? "He certainly won't tease me. When he flees me, he will use the shun-po he's been taught like a good little shinigami. Why do you run, just to go where I can find you?"

"Perhaps," he murmurs, and the slight pink is in his cheeks, "I do not intend to be lost."

"I wish I would have puked on your blanket," she fumes. "You make me so angry now."

"I frustrate you," he corrects.

"Why do I need to have fur on my ass to talk to you?"

"You didn't, not so long ago," he says. "We sat together and I kissed you. We agreed things should not be serious, until the task, the war, was done. But we cannot just pick up where we left off. I was foolish to think we could."

"Juu-chan," she breathes. "Why is it wrong of me to want us to?"

"Yoruichi. I still love you."

"Then _what_?"

"You scare the life out of me," he starts, and tries to continue but she is already gone; she does not want to hear. She and Kisuke are a train wreck. She has mutilated Soifon so badly that only now is the stone giving way to flesh, and the guilt still tears at her in long, deep gashes. And the empty place Juushirou is meant to fill howls. All this she can distill into one stark sentence.

She is sick of being tossed about by love. She stops here, shakes herself, goes back to that empty room.

When he finds the hairball, he knows he's getting to her. It's a good place to start from, he thinks grimly. Smelly, but good.

If she does it again, he'll skin her.


	3. Above All Things, A Dramatist

It is a good place to start from, this loggerheads they have finally come to. Even if she is now avoiding him like the plague. The rumors about town—Kiyone is fanatical about keeping him in the loop—are that Juushirou is the one who put the brakes on the romance that had been budding for the better part of two centuries. The exact opposite is the truth, of course, but either way he is satisfied, or thought he was. What was intended as a chance for the cat goddess to catch her breath and teach herself to think straight again has become something of a fiasco. He learned of his situation yesterday morning.

Juushirou was awake. He was aching and his lungs felt like they were filled with burning coal, but he was alert. And thoughtful. He was keenly aware, for one thing, of his gratitude to Kiyone and Sentarou, who had driven off all visitors aside from his new vice-captain.

Rukia, to her credit, had stepped up to the challenge and all reports clearly pointed to how well and smoothly she was running the division. So well, in fact, that her report lasted barely fifteen minutes and Juushirou indulged himself with teasing her about her orange-haired paramour in the world of the living. It was what Kaien would have done in his place, he knew. He was careful, of course, never asking anything personal and speaking in glowing approval of her choice. The boy was a good match for her, never letting her sink and allowing her to hold him up. There had always been an unstated trust between them, even when they denied it. It must have been a blessing to be so certain.

If he allowed himself, Juushirou would have been jealous of their certainty.

He did his best not to think about that one. In between his short naps, his mind would occasionally slip back to that place where he took her hand, where he had let his lips touch hers and swore to both himself and her that the time of their separation was near an end. They could pick up where they left off and wander into the sunset together, noble captain and beautiful lady. Had he known how wrong he was at the time, he would never have dared think it. . .

"Out with it," Shunsui said coolly.

Juushirou blinked. He must have been dozing. He would have damned Kyouraku for his ninja-like abilities if he weren't glad to see him. "Good to see you too, Shun."

"Juu-kun, there are things going on worthy of your attention." The brown eyes, ever thoughtful, were sparkling a bit.

"You're sober," Juushirou noted with amusement. "What's the occasion?"

"It seems kitty's on the wrong side of your door, so she has seen fit to vandalize your neighbor's garden." Shunsui settled onto his haunches and pulled a heavy-looking parchment from his hakama. On it were the Fong clan's insignias. Juushirou took the paper from his friend's hands, opened, and read. Then looked up in bewilderment. "Yes," Shunsui said with a chuckle, "Kuchiki's being put through the wringer. We both know a soldier like Soifon would never make this much of a fuss. She had to have been put up to it. And who can make that boulder sway?"

Juushirou shook his head. It had been common knowledge that Kuchiki-taichou was courting Soifon-taichou. The initial novelty of it had long since worn off and the two seemed to be progressing. But now the Fon Clan was seeking restitution on behalf of the apparently jilted Soifon. "I don't understand it. I saw them together at the fireworks that night and they seemed to be getting along. What happened?"

"Long story short, Kuchiki had her where he wanted her—or thought he wanted her—and panicked. Don't try wrapping your head around that one, you'll only get a headache. But anyway, Yoruichi seems determined to make him pay for it. I know for a fact she cares, but the bottom line is this is between Soifon and that stuffed shirt, who, by the way, asked for my help in resolving this. Ir's been fun being on the inside of this little circus, but it's getting a little tedious. Kuchiki might as well be glued to my floor, as often as he's been over. And I certainly don't want him to give up and let his eye wander. I'll have to kill him if it falls on Nanao-chan."

"I fail to understand what this has to do with me."

"It's time for you to make Yoruichi come correct."

Juushirou squirmed a little bit. "I'm not her husband."

"Not so long ago, you wanted to be. And you're not a man to get cold feet. What happened?" Shunsui tilted his head, a sure sign he had no interest in being bullshitted.

The white-haired man sighed. "Too many things. Damn you, can't you wait until I'm better before you make me dredge this up?"

"I've been waiting too long already. Now _spill_."

Juushirou shook his head. "It won't work, the way things are. We are not the same people we were a hundred years ago."

"Is it Kisuke?"

Juushirou heaved a breath. Now _there_ was one place he couldn't bear to let his mind go.

"It's more than that. I know the bond between them is something I could never hope to interfere with, but I'd dealt with that long ago. It's her. She's not what she was. She's. . . a _wild_ thing."

Shunsui laughed. Loudly. "Are you just now noticing this? You told me yourself once she was feral. I'm not going to get into a semantic argument with you, but I think both words mean the same thing."

"Oh, stop it."

"Good lord, the drama. You don't need to tell me another thing. You just don't want to feel like a geezer taking his pet tigress out for a walk, do you?"

The white-haired man swallowed the grim smile that was tugging at his lips. "Is that your assessment?"

"Yes, and true or not, your cat goddess needs to be dealt with before she goes supernova and pulls Kuchiki and Soifon down with her. You know better than anyone we cannot afford that. And personally," Shunsui added, rubbing his nose, "I think after what we've been through, we could stand a happy ending or two. Don't let it be reserved for the kids."

"I know what you're saying. You make it sound too easy. I'm ready to commit to her. But she's nowhere near it and you know it. She's forgotten how to live like a normal person and I doubt I could keep up with her. She comes and goes and everything is in the world to suit her whim. I could not possibly begin to give her the things she'll want from me." Juushirou shuddered.

Shunsui scowled. "Idiot. If it were just about the sex, she'd have moved on a long time ago."

Juushirou stared at his hands. "I'll only end up hurting her when I go."

"That's an old complaint, Juu-chan. So what else?"

Juushirou blinked. "What else could there be?"

"Waking up with cat fur in your mouth."

"Right." Juushirou rubbed his temple.

"And the scratches on your back—oh, wait, that's _my_ fantasy." Shunsui beamed. And then he frowned. "I don't know if I can help you at all, but I have given my word to Kuchiki. I need you to handle her. Will you?"

There was a long pause. "I will," Juushirou said.

They sat in silence for a short while. Shunsui knew, knows better than anyone else Juushirou's foibles. Foremost among them is the fact that he is in love with Shihouin Yoruichi.

They set out this morning to intercept the famous former Keigun commander on her mission of destruction. Juushirou's pace is unusually quick and steady.

Shunsui gives him a sidelong glance. "Go get her, Juu."

"I'm on it." Juushirou isn't smiling. The danger in trying is succeeding too well. This, he thinks, is going to be a catastrophe.

Or a miracle.

* * *

**A/N:** I was thinking a lot about the dynamic between Ukitake and Yoruichi. They're both mature adults, of course, but there's no good fiction without conflict and conflict is just an academic word for drama to me. And I don't mean Shakespeare drama. I'm talking Jerry Springer drama. People do stupid things to other people, who react in stupid ways. Throw into that one Urahara Kisuke, puppetmaster. Honestly I think there would have to be serious mental health issues involved with hanging around Urahara for more than an hour, so really, shouldn't Yoruichi be batshit crazy by now?

I got the title from a quote from Margaret Benson. "The cat above all things, is a dramatist." At least here, anyway ;)


	4. Swallowed the White Canary

It was a miracle. She might have merely swatted at him like the gnat he was and stalked away, thwarted in her mischief. Or turned back into her cat form, clawed the hell out of him and then some.

But she did not.

The one-sided screaming match ended abruptly when Yoruichi's amber eyes finally took in the scenery around them and realized that her kohai was missing. Instead of bursting into self-righteous feminine flames, she heaved a scowling breath and made like she would leave—in the opposite direction of the Kuchiki Manor, where Soifon and her erstwhile suitor most certainly had gone.

But that white hand snaked out and caught hers. It was a girlish thing to have one's heart skip a beat but she could not be ashamed of it. _So_, she thought to herself. _He wishes to make peace_.

She has not decided yet whether she wants to give it to him. "Juushirou," she says evenly, "let go."

When she looks at him, his eyes are calm but determined. "No."

She tilts her head, just a bit. Her eyes narrow. "I take it I am being collared."

"Take it any way you want to. I think we should talk now."

"Now?"

"Finally."

"What is there we need to discuss? Your feelings are understood. I was not bothering you."

For a split second the placid expression cracked and a flash of exasperation—real _irritation_—peeks through. He drops her hand. "You can't even be fair enough to allow me to apologize, can you?"

"For rejecting me?" she scoffs.

"For hesitating. There was something in my head, you see. Something I sensed but did not want to ask you, because I was unsure I wanted to hear the answer. But I did not think you were such a spoiled princess that you'd throw a tantrum just because you could not have what you wanted the moment you wanted it. That bothered me, too."

"So you're telling me it's my fault you lost your balls somewhere? Hell of an apology," she scowled.

"I didn't lose them. You _stole_ them. I don't think you meant to. Can we please talk about this somewhere else?"

"Fine," she snorts before sprinting off. "But I'm telling you now that I may very well have eaten them."

Her shun-po is a little slower so he can keep up. After a few steps he looks at her and smiles a little. "That would not surprise me much," he says.

She makes an indelicate noise as she steps just fast enough not to feel his detestably comforting reiatsu swelling beside her. She has learned to hate that part of him—his unbreakable calm, his kind and patient rhythm. He has never once lost his temper with her, and she's given him plenty of reason to do so. If he were more like Kisuke. . .

And how convenient. The place her feet come to a stop reeks of the intrepid Urahara Kisuke.

Juushirou is at her side, and he doesn't even have the decency to pretend to be out of breath. But the way his face crumples, just a little, tells her what she suspected. The aura she is so used to is all but suffocating to him. She can see the hilt of the knife in his gut and cannot help but want to twist it. "We had a lot of fun here, Kisuke and I."

The ivory head tilts backward toward the false sky. "You slept with him."

"A multitude of times," she lies, stretching her arms and grinning. "Under this very sky."

"No," he says. "Not until after you both were gone from here. You were always honorable, even if you had mischief in you. You would not have pursued me if you'd had him."

"You know me that well."

"Better than I thought I did, and I thought I'd forgotten the worst parts of it. It was not clear until Hueco Mundo, and after that all I knew to do was hide. I'm sorry, Yoruichi." His eyes catch her in _that_ way; he is as earnest as ever, but this has a tinge of real guilt. But it's gone just as quickly. "You've been an ass, though."

She frowns at him.

"Go on and look at me however you want. Soifon was at least sensible enough to direct her rage at the rightful target. Did she tell you how many times she had that man within her sights and decided at the last minute not to give the final blow? She's truly a student of yours, and in some ways she's surpassed you."

These words make Yoruichi bare her teeth. "How cruel."

Juushirou begins to pace. "And?"

"You know, killing you would be too easy, if that's what you want."

"Well it's not."

"Then what?"

He stops, faces her. Scratches his head in that adorable way. "Was it only once—you and Kisuke?"

She blinks. Of all the things to want to know. "What do you mean, you did not know until Hueco Mundo?"

"Kisuke got to Aizen because you cleared the way with him. The two of you—you were in perfect sync. When it was over, Aizen was in shreds. You had executed that act perfectly, but it was obvious—to me, to Shunsui—that you'd never planned it. To fight that well together. . . there was no way you could have if you hadn't been. . ."

"Together," she finishes for him.

"It hit me harder than I thought it would. I thought I was past that. All my my calm, all the years I've trained and fought and believed myself to be rational. Gone in the space of a breath. And it's been eating at me." He looks at her. "Every time I thought I was ready to ask, I scared myself off. And then I beat myself up for it. It became a bit of a vicious circle, and all your little antics only made it worse. So you see, if you'd just attacked _me_ instead, we might not be standing here now."

Her arms cross and she shakes her head. "Your about-face has given me whiplash."

"It's not an about-face. I'm standing my ground for once." He pauses, teeth gritted. "Can you be an adult for once and make peace?"

"What's in it for me?"

"One way or another, it ends. All this tension. All the damned hairballs, and I know you hate the taste of them coming back up, so don't even _try_ to act like you enjoy it. I'm in front of you empty handed. Do you still want me?"

She means to smack him. He does not dodge it. But the blow never connects. The cheek her palm grazes is cool and a little clammy. "You're worked up," she murmurs.

"You should know it. You're the one who caused it." He only halfway swallows his chuckle. "Will you please answer the question?"

She raises an eyebrow. "It was only once with him. Something strange happened to me. All I wanted to do was mourn you and he couldn't stand it anymore. It never happened again and all I was thinking about was you. Back then we didn't think we'd ever be able to come home, you see." She watches as the relief washes over his face. At this point she reconsiders smacking him. "How can you feel better about that? _I slept with Urahara Kisuke_."

His smile is brilliant. "Once. And you thought about _me_ the whole time."

"Well maybe I'll think about _him_ the whole time I do it with _you_," she snarks, "and it'll be _so_ overwhelming I'll yell Kis—"

"Oh shut up." His kiss puts an end to it.

_It's about time,_ they both think.

* * *

**A/N:** Epilogue is a-coming.


	5. Mine

Damn her.

Damn her stubborn self, damn her independence, damn her fierce, unrelenting feral nature.

All these things, he's ashamed to recall, he has thought to himself at one time or another. Even if he was right to think them.

But he's just as right to forget them as he stares hard into amber eyes that will him to shut his own before her lips will touch his. _Give in_, the eyes order. _ I win._

_No,_ he thinks, before the reflex kicks in and his body warms to the graze of her hair against his ears and he can taste milk. His own hands knead her back lightly, the slight arch of her clavicles is all he needs to know she has no right to call this anything but a draw. But even that thought is falling away as her mouth opens just a little more and his tongue grazes her molars.

He is dimly aware of his heart hammering a tattoo in his chest. His thighs ache. The weight of her lean form is nonexistent; even now she is intent on causing as little discomfort for him as possible. She has always been like that, even when she clearly wanted to touch him but wouldn't.

_Perhaps we were expecting some kind of explosion. Perhaps we've been so bottled up that we can only ease the cork out slowly, or we'll miss it and our wanting will just stain the walls, the air, the floor. . ._

She hears the growl at the bottom of his throat before she truly registers what is happening. She is on her back and his kiss is hungry, greedy, anything but the tenderness she anticipated. Her own laugh bubbles up into her throat. She won't say this aloud, it will only embarrass him. _Juu-chan, you letch._ His hands on her bare bottom are strong and rougher than. . .well. . .nevermind. He nuzzles her neck, murmuring something he doesn't want her to hear.

Her hands are tangled in his hair. Her ear is between his teeth and he nips. She stiffens only a little, sucking in breath, but this is enough to wrench him away, a flash of alarm on his face. "Did I―" It's gone in an instant when she smiles up at him. It's okay that he's this hungry. She would be irritated if it were any other way. She doesn't need to tell him this either. Her hand pulls him back to her. _Mine_, she thinks.

She is soft in all the right places, even along her wiry arms. Her thighs hold him in place as he pushes forward into foreign territory and finds it welcoming. Beneath him he can feel her heart pounding and even as his breath comes in shorter gasps hers is the same. _Is this what I tried to avoid?_ He thinks absently as he reaches the end of the world and jumps, knowing he'll never really hit the ground again.

He buries his face in her hair. _Mine_, he thinks. Beneath him, Yoruichi is purring.

* * *

**A/N:** Sorry, folks, this isn't the last chapter. Just call it me tripping on a thought and getting my foot stuck.


End file.
